


how long will i love you

by S3C



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: About Time, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Karaoke, these two will be the death of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:56:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1507985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S3C/pseuds/S3C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre has loved Courfeyrac ever since she met her. Its about time she did something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how long will i love you

**Author's Note:**

> This just sorta... poured out of me, so enjoy.  
> I apologise in advance for the horrible puns.  
> I haven't ever seen About Time, so I'm not particularly well qualified to write this but there you go.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre were splayed out on Courfeyrac’s bed; legs tangled together, Combeferre occupying herself with a thin paperback and Courfeyrac with her headphones in, messing around on her iPod. They often spent afternoons like this, or even whole days, not a word passing between them, touching was enough to remember and enjoy the other’s presence. Occasionally, if one of them found something funny, they would snort a little and at the other’s questioning gaze show them exactly what it was that made them laugh. In Combeferre’s case, she would usually laugh a little too at whatever had caught Courfeyrac’s attention. In Courfeyrac’s, she wouldn’t understand since she hadn’t read the book, and therefore deeming it uninteresting would turn back to Tumblr, or whatever else she was doing on her little red device.  
It was one of these days, when the rain was pattering gently on the window, dampening the windowsill and all its inhabitants since Courfeyrac had forgotten to shut the window. Her room was cluttered, but in a nice way, Combeferre observed. There were things everywhere, and each one of those things told a story, the photographs plastering the walls were memories since faded. There were photographs of Courfeyrac and Combeferre with Enjolras and ones of before, of places Ferre didn’t recognise and people she didn’t know. There were snow globes with marmots inside which Enjolras brought back for them from the Alps, wigs and hats from fun runs they had participated in and flower crowns from festivals. This room, Combeferre decided, was almost a time machine in itself. It was a perpetual reminder of the past. Maybe that’s why they were both so comfortable there.  
The routine silence was broken by Courfeyrac, pulling out one of her ear buds and turning to Ferre.  
“I love this song.” She sighed, trying to jam the bud into Ferre’s ear without much success. Ferre slid her finger down into her book to mark her page and lifted the other hand up to softly swat away Courfeyrac’s hand and position the ear bud in her ear. At her nod, Courfeyrac pressed play and waited anxiously for Combeferre’s approval. It started with a beautiful violin solo, before a deep male voice came in, sweet in harmony with the strings. It had a simple, pretty melody, which brought a smile to Combeferre’s lips.  
“It’s beautiful.” She promised reverently, once it because apparent that Courfeyrac wanted her to say something. Courfeyrac grinned in response.  
“It’s from that film I went to see with Enj, _About Time_. I cried so much.”  
Combeferre smiled to herself, she had heard much about the film, from both Courfeyrac and Enjolras. Courfeyrac was full of praise for it, claiming that even thinking about it made her want to cry. Enjolras, as one would expect, had not thought so highly of it, and couldn’t for the life of her understand why it made Courfeyrac cry.  
“I still haven’t seen that film.” Combeferre remarked, having turned back to her book. She could hear Courfeyrac’s jaw drop open, which made her smile fondly. Her book was prised from her fingers and marked with an odd scrap of paper; a drawing of Courfeyrac’s detailing the three of them together, copied from one of the many photos.  
And of course Courfeyrac had the film on her iPod, so Combeferre was roped in to watching “the best film ever made”. Not that she minded, of course. She would do anything for Courf, and being able to curl up against her chest while they watched only sweetened the deal.

****

**_5 years later_ **

 

Karaoke was popular in Combeferre’s group of friends, yet she never willingly sang herself in public. She wasn’t one for making a fool out of herself. Courfeyrac was often up on the tiny makeshift stage – she could sing and she knew it, but was never arrogant or obnoxious, which Combeferre admired. She, Courfeyrac and Enjolras had all attended the same university, and had made fast friends with several other students. Which is how they wound up here, in a grotty bar, “entertaining” (in the loosest of terms) the other residents of said bar. Celebrating the arrival of the holidays, Combeferre gave herself the liberty of drinking a little, to relieve the stress the past few months. This is how quite possibly one of the worst ideas she had ever had entered her head, and how she found the bravery to jump up on the stage, grab the mic, and smirk at her friends who were staring in amazement at her daring.  
She could see the surprise written all over Courfeyrac’s face as the first few bars played over the sound system, her mouth hanging open in astonishment.  
How Combeferre gathered up the courage to start singing she will never know, but she is oh so glad she did. Courfeyrac audibly gasped as she let the first notes ring out across the seedy bar and ensnare the attention of all the inhabitants.  
“How long will I love you?  
As long as stars are above you  
And longer, if I can.  
How long will I need you?  
As long as the seasons need to  
Follow their plan.”  
She could hear the amazement of her friends, they didn’t dare utter a word as she sang, but made tiny noises of approval and incredulity, almost inaudible over the music. And Courfeyrac was bright bright scarlet, which Combeferre _thinks_ was the plan. She’s not entirely sure if she had a plan, but then Courfeyrac _was_ just a delightful shade of red. She continued with renewed passion, not once taking her eyes off Courfeyrac, until the last note reverberated around the room, and she averted her gaze to her feet. While she sang, she was bolder; she was suspended from reality, invincible. But as soon as the music ended, she was vulnerable and open and she could feel a blush heating her cheeks. She turned to re-join her friends, but half way down the steps she was met by Courfeyrac, still bright red, who wasted no time in taking her face in her hands and kissing her until neither of them could remember how to breathe, and neither of them cared, because if Combeferre could drown in the brown of Courfeyrac’s eyes then she would die content.  
“Is… is this okay?” Courfeyrac pulled back for a moment, concerned.  
“Yes. Oh my god yes.” Combeferre breathed, chasing her lips, leaning forward to capture them and make them her own again.  
“You remembered.” Combeferre could feel her smile against her lips.  
“Of course I remembered.” She laughed between kisses, fumbling in her pocket for her purse, pulling out a tattered, old scrap of paper, the same paper Courfeyrac had used to mark her book five years before.  
“That long?” Courfeyrac cocked her head to the side in an adorable fashion.  
“That long.” She confirmed.  
“Well then, it’s about time, isn’t it?” Courfeyrac grinned devilishly, and stretched up for another kiss.


End file.
